


Diplomatic Solutions

by Amarthril



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Aussie Bogan Crackfic, Australian Slang, Australian/New Zealand rivalry, Cricket, Smoking, Swearing, crackfic, its like the ashes, we love our pavlova ok?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7028242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amarthril/pseuds/Amarthril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aussie Bogan Crackfic - Josephine attempts to settle an old feud between the Australians and New Zealanders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diplomatic Solutions

“Fuck!” Josie winced. The cobblestones were searing after being baked all day in the Australian sun. 

“Oi! Lel! Can ya grab my thongs?” She called back into dim main hall. Lel’s voiced floated back through the cool darkness,

“Righto, which ones?” 

“The ones with the diamantes. I gotta to dress up for the New Zealand Ambassador.” Josie replied. She dressed up for this meeting by wearing her best Bintang singlet from Bali. She danced from toe to toe, trying to cool her burnt soles. Lel appeared, carrying a floral patterned pair of thongs with rhinestones encrusted on the strap. Josie promptly put them on,

“Cheers, I owe ya a Zooper Dooper,” she said before running down the steps. 

“Bloody oath you do!” Lel called after her. 

Josie hurried to the pub – The Herald’s Rest – the classiest establishment in Skyhold. She quickly scanned the room. The New Zealand Ambassador hadn’t arrived yet. The bar was unusually empty, except for Blackwall, who was enjoying a quiet VB. 

“Bazza mate, is the Ambassador here yet?” Josie asked.

“Yeah nah, come and have a beer while ya wait, sheila.” was his reply. Josie assented and soon she was relishing the crisp relief of a Carlton Draught in an Australian flag stubby. 

“You got a ciggy?” Bazza asked her. 

“Nah yeah.” Josie handed him a cigarette and her favourite AC/DC lighter. Bazza light it in silence. Their respite was broken when Old Cazza appeared from the back room.

“Oi! You can’t smoke here Bazza.” He growled. 

“Aw come of it Cazza, I’m on smoko.” Bazza complained. Old Cazza crossed his arms,

“Outside. Mate.” He threatened. Bazza picked up his VB and rose from his seat, 

“Get stuffed ya fuckin’ wanker.” He called before throwing his smoke on the floor and leaving. Josie shrugged and followed Bazza out. She wondered why the New Zealand Ambassador was so late. 

As she stepped back out into the courtyard, Josie found the answer to question. The New Zealand Ambassador and her party were in a fierce ‘shirtfront’ with Sera, Varric, and The Iron Bull. Josie could hear Sera, 

“Na-ah, Pavlova was invented by us!” she argued. 

“Bullshit! Everyone knows you bloody stole it from us.” The New Zealand Ambassador fought back. 

Josephine stepped forward, placing herself between the two parties. She spoke with a calm voice, just has she had learned in her dispute resolution class at TAFE,

“We can work this out proper. I know a way to settle this – right here, right now.” All eyes were on her. She swallowed,

“I propose a game of backyard cricket. Winner gets Pavlova rights.” Josie watched as the tension shifted. Before it was furious, uncontrollable. Now it was calculated, competitive. Sera looked to Varric and Bull, she nodded. 

“Righto.” She said. 

“One hand, one bounce?” the New Zealand Ambassador asked. 

“One hand, one bounce. Tippity runs. No LBW’s” Josie agreed.

The coin toss left Team Oz to bat first. Cullo, who had been elected captain, placed Sera to open the innings with Bull batting third. 

As they set the pitch up, Josie dragged an old deck chair and esky onto the back of her ute. As umpy, she would have to stay alert in the sweltering heat. She organised Bazza and Dagna to watch the wickets and Vivienne to observe as third umpy from her balcony. 

The first innings passed smoothly with Sera and Varric achieving a solid 48 runs between them. The New Zealander’s had the advantage of batting second, it was easier for them to chase the score. However, the Aussies had a secret weapon, Bull and Krem-o were known to have a magnificent batting partnership. 

Josie felt the strain of umpiring during the second innings. She could feel the beginnings of a sunburn on her shoulders but she’d be a dingo is she bothered to slip, slop, slap. Fuck melanoma, sunscreen was for weak European backpackers. 

The New Zealander’s batted well, scoring 55 runs. As umpy, Josie was supposed to be impartial but she couldn’t ignore the tiny voice inside her that cheered, _carn the Aussies!_

Half-time they ate frozen oranges and sipped Zooper Doopers. The game had attracted most of Skyhold by now. Even the merchant ladies had pitched in, supplying the players with homemade lamingtons and egg sandwiches. Someone had brought out an inflatable pool and filled it with ice and stubbies. Out of nowhere, a radio had materialised and triple-j was blaring. All the attention only served to heighten the tense mood between the teams. 

Bull and Krem-o took the field. The New Zealand Ambassador was bowling. She rubbed the ball against her thigh, leaving a red stain there. She was fast – abandoning the more reliable spin for speed and force. Unfortunately, this had no effect on Krem-o, who knocked it for six. 

Skyhold roared, a chant arose from the walls, 

“Come on Krem-o, come one, come on. Come on Krem-o, come on.” He was thrilled and raised his bat about his head. 

The New Zealand Ambassador learned from her mistake and changed her style for the next bowl. She slowed and controlled the ball into a tight spin that only allowed Krem-o to score one run. Bull was up. He distanced himself from the wicket. Bent over the bat, he carefully guarded the sticks. The New Zealander bowled a Yorker, just long so Bull had little room to manoeuvre. He raised his bat vertically and knelt down, catching the ball on the wood. 

Josie watched in slow motion. The ball flew magnificently through the air and – even more magnificently – slammed into the New Zealand Ambassador’s face. _Shit._

Silence. 

“Somebody call triple-O!” a voice cut through the crowd. Josie turned to see the Inquisitor approaching. _Oh Fuck._

She rushed to the New Zealander, who was crunched over on the dry grass. Blood was everywhere. It streamed down the Ambassador’s face. Josie shook her gently. Slowly the Ambassador’s eyes fluttered open, 

“Fuuuccck.” She groaned. Josie sighed,

“You’re a tough bastard.” 

The Ambassador sat up, spraying blood all over Josie’s Bintang singlet. _Great_ , she thought, _now all my Bintang singlets have blood stains._

She looked up at the Inquisitor who was standing above them now. He had tears in his eyes. He was laughing like a kookaburra. 

“You think this is fuckin’ funny?” she demanded. The Inquisitor gasped for air, 

“I guess you’re going to have to find some way to make this up to the New Zealand Ambassador.” He chortled. And with that he left. 

\-----

[ _Two hours later._ ] 

The sun sank behind the Jim Beam flag mounted on the Western wall. On a makeshift podium of old tires and milk crates Josie stood beside the New Zealand Ambassador. In her hands, she balanced a perfectly baked pavlova. It was topped with strawberries and passion-fruit. She let out a tense breath, 

“We acknowledge that New Zealand holds the sacred pavlova rights.” The words tasted like a fly-infested snag that had been left on the barbie too long. The Ambassador smiled, sickly sweet. Painful memories of the 2013 Ashes series resurfaced. Josie twitched as she reluctantly handed the pav over. It was too much. 

She slammed the pavlova into the New Zealand Ambassador’s face. 

Chaos ensued.

**Author's Note:**

> Also I know 48 runs is an appalling score for the opening batsmen but I had to be realistic – this is backyard cricket, not the Ashes.
> 
> And yes I do acknowledge that the New Zealander’s actually invented Pavlova.


End file.
